Deprivation
by sparticletam
Summary: Jack and Daniel are trapped in a dangerous game that sends them running for their lives.


Title: Deprivation  
  
Author: TCR  
  
Email: tcrites1@hotmail.com  
  
Status: Complete  
  
Category: A/A & hero-whumping  
  
Spoilers: None  
  
Season: c. episode 504  
  
Content: Strong language  
  
Summary: Jack and Daniel are trapped in a dangerous game that sends them running for their lives.  
  
Author's Notes: Thank you SG-1 for the use of the characters; I think I'll return them now. Special thanks to: SgWrite members, D.R., Julia, Randi, Malinda & Jamieson. You gals are the best. All good things must come to an end.  
  
Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and back story are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. ~ All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
DEPRIVATION  
  
By TCR  
  
Daniel awoke on a double bed, shoes on, surrounded by log walls, a ceiling of wooden beams overhead, bright red comforter beneath, downy matching pillow under his head, with a view of an expanse of green beyond cheery, checkered window curtains. And the disturbing part: ankles roped to the corners, arms spread to the headboard trapped in long-chained cuffs. To the left in front of the window: Jack in a chair with ankles secured to the legs, arms tied flat on the rests, black ropes across his sternum, head drooped on to his chest. Breathing. *Thank God.*  
  
"Jack?" Daniel waited. "Jack? You all right? Wake up!" Nothing.  
  
He surveyed the space: single room, door behind O'Neill, refrigerator, cooking area and table to the right, TV set and a sofa straight down his line of sight, and a couple of backpacks in the corner on a brick ledge next to the set. On the far right, on the same wall as the bed: an open door, probably the bath.  
  
He blinked, coping with blurriness. A memory recurred: What?.....a scent?.....in the car? Jack's last words: Do you smell something funny?  
  
Daniel had thought he was being juvenile, then nothing. Then *this.* Restraints. Strange cabin. He tugged at the ropes and cuffs, hands floating several inches off the bed. The metal jingled sharply on the tall wood and iron headboard. No use.  
  
"Ja-ack.....Wake up, damn it!" *Raising my voice, raising my.....suppose they're waiting for that? To hear us stir so they can come back in here and.....what? What do they want?*  
  
The door opened; two men sauntered in--as nonchalant as if wandering back into a boring business meeting.  
  
"Who are you?" asked Daniel, lifting his head off the enemy pillow. "Why are we here?" He looked up into blue eyes on one side of the bed and brown on the other.  
  
"Dr. Jackson, pleased to meet you." Blue cast a smirk toward his partner. "Call me, `Your Honor'," he said, snickering at a private joke.  
  
"Let us go. Whatever it is you want--"  
  
"Save your breath, Jackson." Peering down, Brown thrust both fists into his pockets. "We only want to know one thing."  
  
Daniel was afraid to ask; he fiddled unconsciously at the cuffs. "What's that?"  
  
"Everything about your work."  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
Brown sat next to Daniel, nice and cozy. "You can call me.....Lorde.....that'll do. What do you say, Your Honor?"  
  
"Excellent." Honor paced around the bed. "Well, why.....huh, I'm hungry, we should've eaten first. When your pal gets a little more rest, we can get started."  
  
Daniel averted his gaze from meeting Lorde's. He'd come too close for conversation, invading his personal space. "Let us go. I don't know what you'd want to know about my job, it's all rather mun....."  
  
"Please, Jackson.....hey, he's coming around," said Lorde.  
  
Jack moaned. *Did I moan that much?*   
  
Honor went to the colonel, propped his head against his stomach, slapped him lightly on the cheek, then allowed it to drop forward again. "Guess not," he said, walking to the refrigerator.  
  
Lorde stayed on the bed. "Where do you work?"  
  
*Is this a friendly interrogation?* "I'm writing a book." Daniel heeded Jack, wishing he were conscious, glad he wasn't. *He'll be awfully mad when he wakes up.*  
  
"About the Cheyenne Mountain compound?"  
  
Daniel thought fast. His cover story was a tad rusty. "Research."  
  
Grinning, Lorde tested the cuff chains, shirttail tickling Daniel's lip. "What kind of research?"  
  
"I'm.....working on a relevant translation." *Be vague.*  
  
"With the U.S. military?"  
"They have authorization to access areas I otherwise wouldn't have any..... access..... to." *Misinformation.*  
  
"That's research?"  
  
Daniel felt as though the ceiling was inching lower. "Technically, it's all a means to an end." *Perfect bullshit.*   
  
Honor unwrapped a chunk of cheese on the counter, bread and beer set on the table.  
  
"But you haven't been out of the country lately."  
  
*They know.* "It's not all glamour." *When will they hit us, drug us, use us as hostages?*  
  
"How long you known O'Neill?"  
Daniel's thighs cramped and he tried to bend his legs to alleviate them. It created an excruciating charley horse in his calf; he winced, angry that he could not reach down to massage the offending muscle.  
  
"Comfortable?"  
  
"Who are you?" he asked, agitated. "Go to hell. I'm not answering any more questions." He turned away, taking stock of Jack again, cuffs jingling. The colonel was blissfully unaware of the fun he was missing. These strangers possessed a disconcerting confidence.  
  
A query from Honor defused the tension. "Sandwich?"  
  
Daniel was relieved to feel the mattress dip; Lorde left to eat. The smell of cheese, mustard, and smoked meat dominated the room. He and Jack had been on their way to a late Sunday lunch when their course was unfavorably altered. At present, food was the last thing on his mind. Honor switched on the TV and both he and Lorde lazed on the sofa cheering a football game which O'Neill had mentioned earlier. *This isn't happening.*   
  
"What is it you want?" called Daniel, their backs to him. "Can I talk to whomever's in charge?"  
  
"In charge?" Honor banged his feet on the coffee table. "Take a respite. We'll get to it."  
  
*We'll get to it?* "I'm certain you must have us mixed up with someone else."  
  
"Quiet," advised Lorde.  
  
"We don't have anything you could possibly want." The roar of the game filled the room; Daniel persisted. "Who are you?"  
  
They ignored him.  
  
"Can we establish some kind of truce here? Let us go and we'll forget about what's happened today. There's no reason for us to--"  
  
Lorde put down his meal, rose and turned. "If you don't shut up, I'll gag you. Get it?"  
  
*Thank you, no.* Daniel gave up, lying back; Lorde resumed the meal. *I don't believe it, just a bad dream.....*   
  
"Crap." Jack was roused, eyes opened, experiencing the surprise of finding out you can't bring your hands to your throbbing head. "What the....." Seeing Daniel, he tensed against the bindings. "I'm not liking this."  
  
Honor switched off the TV and cleaned his face with a napkin. "Morning," he said, approaching the colonel.  
  
Shaking his head, Jack cleared the fogginess. "You all right?" he asked Daniel, disregarding Honor.  
  
The doctor nodded, unnerved by Lorde's return to the bedside as Honor seated himself on the other. *The word claustrophobia was invented for times like these.*   
  
Jack recognized his captor. "Who dragged you in?"  
  
"Let by-gones be by-gones," replied Honor, in a singsong tone. "Why don't we make a fresh start?"  
  
"This isn't what I would've had in mind. Look, I don't know what you guys are up to, but it won't work. Just warning you ahead of time."  
  
"We've been discussing Jackson's work. Glad you could join us."  
  
"None of your business. Let us go."  
  
"You sound like him." Honor pointed a thumb at Daniel. "Must be from all those years working together. How long you known each other, Jack?"  
  
"It's *Colonel* O'Neill. Quit pussyfooting around. Why are we here?" Jack's curiosity peaked. "Who sent you?"  
  
"Don't bother."  
  
"Who? Niewind? Bartell? Lovejoy?"  
  
"Never heard of them."  
  
"Stonebridge?"  
  
"He's dead. Skip the guesses. It annoys me."  
  
Jack stiffened his posture. "They'll hear about this. It's criminal."  
  
Laughing, Honor resumed his own agenda. "We know about the gate."  
  
"Gate?"  
  
"Stargate. Alien artifact. Remember?"  
  
"He doesn't know what you're talking about," said Daniel, poker-faced.  
  
"Quite the pair. Can we remind you you're the ones under restraint, not us? How does the gate work, doctor?"  
  
Daniel zipped his lips. The odor of mustard and onions on Lorde made his stomach churn.  
  
"O'Neill." Honor paused, rising past Jack to the footboard. "Tell us what you know about alien technologies."  
  
Jack zipped his lips. Outside, a mocking bird performed its borrowed repertoire and the faint whir of a chainsaw hummed.  
  
"How many worlds have you visited?"  
  
"I'll make a deal with you," said Jack, employing an alternate tactic. "Release him, keep me."  
  
"No deals. How many worlds have you visited?"  
  
Daniel hid his apprehension; they would not gain total control. For maximum effectiveness, the sneer on O'Neill's face would be the perfect thing to imitate.  
  
"You have one more chance to begin answering."  
  
Jack's sneering deepened. "Or else?"  
  
Daniel cringed at the attitude.  
  
Folding back his sleeve, Honor asked, "How does the gate work?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"How many worlds have you visited?"  
  
More silence, then the attitude: "That's two chances."  
  
*No, Jack.....* Daniel observed their interrogator bristle and motion to his accomplice.  
  
"One minute," said Honor, minding his wristwatch.  
  
At once, Daniel looked up; Lorde descended on him swiftly, clasping a smooth palm over his mouth, pinching his nostrils with the other hand. Panicked, he pulled his head back against the enemy pillow, expecting Lorde's pupils to glow in the same instant. Letting out a strangled scream, the doctor yanked at the cuffs, desperate to shove the attacker away. There'd been no time to inhale.  
  
"What are you doing?" Jack demanded instantly. "God damn it, stop!"  
  
Honor marked the passing time, eyes on the watch. "How does the gate work?"  
  
"This isn't right. Let him go."  
  
"Where did it originate?"  
  
"You're crazy. Stop it."  
  
"Who are you working for?"  
  
"It's classified."  
  
"Tell me about your other assignment."  
  
"I push papers, all day, everyday."  
  
"You'd never settle for that."  
  
"What do you know? Get your man off him!"  
  
"We're just getting started, Jack."  
  
"Don't know what you mean."  
  
"Not true. What's the real scoop?"  
  
"Scoop?"  
  
"The gate. The big secret."  
  
"You're not making sense."  
  
"Confirm the existence of the gate."  
  
You can't do this."  
  
"I am doing it."  
  
"I told you.....shit, Mark, let him alone." Jack's wrists grappled with the rope. "He hasn't done anything to you."  
  
"How many people are assigned to the stargate project?"  
  
"I don't know about any project."  
  
*Jack give them a lie.....*  
  
"When was the project formed?"  
  
"We don't know. Damn it, we don't know what you're--"  
  
"What department are you assigned to?"  
  
"You know that's classified. Let him go."  
  
"Haven't been out of the country much yourself either, have you?"  
  
"There's no way on God's green--"  
  
"Tell us what we want, we'll give your colleague a reprieve."  
  
"What? Is there something I'm missing here? Leave him alone!"  
  
Daniel's legs were quivering. *One minute..... one?*   
  
"Can you confirm that the U.S. military is in the possession of alien technologies?"  
  
Jack focused on his teammate. "You'll suffocate him." Daniel's head pressed harder into the pillow, body arching upwards. "Call him off!"  
  
"Can you confirm the existence of any alien artifact?"  
  
*More than one.....please, no.....can't breathe.....*  
  
"I'll confirm nothing. This is ridiculous."  
  
"Are you aware of an alien presence on earth?"  
  
"You won't get anywhere with this."  
  
"Are you an alien?"  
  
"Am I a _what?_.....Stop this--stop it now!"  
  
Honor's watch beeped and Lorde played a sadistic trick: He removed only one hand, forcing the captive to take his first crucial breaths through flaring nostrils before setting his mouth free.  
  
Chest and abdomen heaving, Daniel surrendered to sudden exhaustion. *Air, air.....the most important thing in the universe.* He licked his lips, teeth clenched between heavy swallows and inhalations, squinting at the man planted next to him. *Next to killing you with my bare hands.*  
  
Jack sighed, indignant. "Fuck you. This a game you two play at home?"  
  
*Don't provoke him.* Daniel was stunned. *These guys are serious.* He glanced at O'Neill; neither would ever reveal their secrets.   
  
"Rules are simple," said Lorde, wiping his hands with a kerchief. "Talk and we'll let you go unharmed."  
  
Jack's eyes drilled into him. "You would've made a great serial killer."  
  
"How do you know I'm not?"  
  
*It's over. Don't push it, Jack.*   
  
Honor strolled to the refrigerator and brought his partner a beer, placing it atop a wall shelf by the bed. "Let's get on with it."  
  
"Let's not and say we did," said Jack. "I don't like your sick game."  
  
"It's been years since you disappeared from the academic world, doctor. What have you been doing since then?"  
  
Jack interrupted. "Give him time. He's not ready."  
  
"Stay out of this." Honor reiterated the question.  
  
Livid, Daniel sluggishly regained his composure and breath, hands trembling with the surge of adrenaline. The marks of four fingers on one side of his face and a thumb on the other were prominent. "I.....said.....already said." He tagged a wary eye on Lorde who sipped the beer, content.  
  
"What's the name of your book?"  
  
Daniel had nipped the inside of his lip in the attack; his teeth felt nudged out of place. "Recent.....Mes.....Mesopotamian Discoveries." *How to Handle Difficult Assholes.*  
  
Circling the bed, Honor addressed Jack, wrist at the small of his back. "When did you join the SGC?"  
  
"See here, I've got an idea. I'll visit, talk over the good old days, and Jackson goes. You can escort him out. He'll never know how to get back." O'Neill wrinkled his nose. "Not very good at those things."  
  
"I told you, no deals."  
  
"Who said deal? It's a trade."  
  
"I would if I thought you were serious. Can't fool me, Jack."  
  
"Colonel."  
  
Honor walked towards the door. "When did you join the SGC?"  
  
"I have proudly served in the United States Air Force for twenty-five years."  
  
"Not the Air Force.....the SGC!" yelled Honor, directly into O'Neill's ear. "Pay attention."  
  
"Leave him alone," said Daniel, defensive. "We've never heard of it."  
  
Lorde spilled beer on his chest and brushed it away, tiny droplets striking Daniel in the eye. The man didn't notice, warning: "He's not talking to you."  
  
*Mother-fuc.....*  
  
"SGC. Stargate Command. Your boss," continued Honor. "Will you confirm there is such an organization?"  
  
O'Neill mechanically restated his declaration: "I have proudly served....."  
  
Droning on, Honor bombarded them with open-ended questions in rapid succession; Daniel and Jack disavowed knowledge each time. The mocking bird had finished its performance, sun creeping below the mountains. "This could go on a long time, gentlemen. I'm sure you're getting hungry, thirsty." He flicked a switch by the door and the room dimly illuminated. "Help us out a little--stop fucking lying--and we'll get you a drink."  
  
"Not thirsty, thank you," said Jack.  
  
*No--there's the attitude again. Keep it in your hat, Jack. Keep it in your hat.*  
  
"Doctor, your theory regarding an ancient alien invasion was, let's say.....made a laughingstock out of you. Your theory has been proven valid. How do you feel about that?"  
  
Daniel trained his sight on the sofa's top edge, the part visible from his location. *He's trying to get me to blurt something out by accident.*  
  
"Your grandfather was a laughingstock, too," mocked Lorde. "Must run in the family."  
  
Seething, Daniel glared at him. *I will greatly enjoy the crunch of your Adam's apple under my thumbs.*  
  
Jack stretched as well as he could in the firm seat. "Let us go, we can't tell you anything we don't know."  
  
"We will get it. How does the stargate work?"  
  
"You're rambling," said Jack. "It's confusing."  
  
"Dr. Jackson, what does Mesopotamia have to do with translations?"  
  
"They read too, back then."  
  
"Wouldn't this involve at least one trip to the region?"  
  
"I've been. Sorry you couldn't make it."  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"He's telling you the truth," seconded Jack. "This is a waste of time."  
  
"You're lying."  
  
*Back to that old song..... no!* He sensed it coming--by intuition or from the experience of his very recent lesson. Lorde shifted slightly, a quarter-turn toward him. Daniel sneaked in a breath this time, the hands clamping down on his face, strong, hot. *Oh god, smothering! No no, conserve, conserve, don't burn it up, fear..... uses up.....oxygen.....hold it.....hold.....* A groan emanated from his throat, trailed by soft muffled grunts within his sinuses as the membranes made contact with one another, craving for sustenance.  
  
"Ah no, for.....No!" cried Jack. "Don't--don't do that!" He watched Daniel crane his head back, frantic to escape, right arm rigid on the chain, knees curving inwards. "Leave him alone."  
  
Under normal circumstances, Daniel knew he could hold his breath for well over a minute. *Normal circumstances.....normal.....What was normal about having your breath abruptly stolen from you?*  
  
Honor casually examined his watch, standing at his footboard post. "Is it worth it, Jack? Air Force man..... proudly served twenty-five years.....you know what hypoxia is. Anoxia."  
  
"We don't know anything. How many times do I have to tell you?"  
  
"How many times do I have to ask you?"  
  
"This is totally out of line."  
  
The doctor's reserved breath was vanishing  
  
"Tell us about the acquisition of alien technologies."  
  
"No.....he's writing a book.....we're friends.....I'm in the.....Let him  
  
go--he's a civilian for Christ's sake!"  
  
"Is it worth it, Jack?"  
  
"Call me colonel. You'll kill him."  
  
"Tell me about the SGC."  
  
"Come on! _Don't_ do this."  
  
"How many people know about the SGC?"  
  
Jack shook his head, fingernails digging into the wooden armrests. "I don't know.....he can't take anymore."  
  
Honor checked the time, then flamed: "Don't tell me you don't know! I'm sick of hearing it. When did you join the SGC?"  
  
"I am in the United States Air--"  
  
"What is it you're hiding Jack?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing.....I don't know what you want."  
  
"You're lying. Ease his misery. Talk."  
  
"God, this is insane!"  
  
"Stop spitting me garbage. I want facts."  
  
"Killing won't get you anything."  
  
"Kill? How about seeing him a vegetable the rest of his life?"  
  
Daniel's grip on the chains weakened; his eyes blinked rapidly.  
  
"It's too long, let him go." Jack thought of nothing else.  
  
"Permanently bedridden, tube down his throat."  
  
"Order your grunt to stand down."  
  
"Dependent on machines."  
  
"This is wrong. You and I were friends."  
  
"Dependent on his friends."  
  
"Call your man off."  
  
"Glassy stare. Ruined life."  
  
"God damn you--you'll regret it! Let him go."  
  
"Tell us about the stargate."  
  
"No such thing....." Jack spoke through gritted teeth. "Leave him....."  
  
Honor wagged a finger; Lorde released the victim, disappearing into the bath. Daniel gasped, his initial breath violently rattling the bed, chains clinking as he convulsed from the rush. *Air.....oh God, air. All anyone could ever desire.* Mouth agape, he panted quickly as though he'd just broken the surface of the water after misjudging its distance.  
  
"Next time, eternity." Honor produced a package of cigarettes. "Three, maybe four minutes before permanent brain damage occurs. Oxygen deprivation. He could even have a heart attack. Cumulative damage is equally harmful. Over and over and over again. We'll play until you decide to quit repeating yourselves." Taking out a smoke, he opened the front door and strolled out into the night.  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
"Daniel?" said Jack, delicately.  
  
He gulped, intent on replenishing his lungs, heart galloping at light-speed.   
  
"You okay?"  
  
The question went into his ears, but the answer would not come out. If it had, it would be NO.   
  
Jack fidgeted and twisted back, glimpsed through the window, keen on loosening the ropes at the same time. He snatched a view of Honor who passed beyond in the scant porch light, speaking on the phone.  
  
"What's out....." Daniel stopped to inhale, eyes watery, voice a thin trickle of sound. "There?"  
  
"A snake." Jack looked at him--his face was colorless except for the red spots on his cheeks, sweat across the brow. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Not your....." Daniel let a wave of nausea pass. "Other.....s.o.b?"  
  
"In there." Jack jutted his chin towards the inner door, constantly fussing with his wrists and ankles. "Must have a big romance section. Can you slip out of those?"  
  
"S-Slip?" Daniel lifted his head. "Right."  
  
"Okay, okay. We have to consider everything. How about your legs?"  
  
He obliged and pulled weakly; there was no change.  
  
"Daniel, God forbid I have to say this," said Jack. "But next time....."  
  
*Next time?* "No, no, I-I can't deal with--"  
  
"Take a really big breath and _don't panic_. They'll probably release you as soon as you faint anyway."  
  
"F-Faint?"  
  
"Lose consciousness. Don't fight it, try and accept that it _will happen_."  
  
"A-Accept?"  
  
"I know. It's not easy. Try and stay calm, remember, big breath if you can and don't struggle."  
  
"Struggle?" *Jack, do you know what it's like? It's like being in a coffin and watching the lid slowly come down.*  
  
"Fighting speeds the process."  
  
*Survival skills, Jack and his survival skills.....I think I'm going to cry.* "What process?" asked Daniel.  
  
"Physiology."  
  
"Brain.....wobbly."  
  
"Carbon dioxide build-up in your blood."  
  
*Fuck.*  
  
"You'll get tunnel vision and your ears will ring. Go with it. Pretend."  
  
*Pretend? Now pretend?* "Jack, I don't know if....."  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
Honor and Lorde returned together.   
  
*Don't struggle, accept it. Pretend, faint.....survive.*   
  
"Back so soon?" asked Jack.  
  
Lorde resumed his position on the bed, patting Daniel on the chest. "Relax. Few more questions. Easy as pie."  
  
Recoiling at the touch, Daniel couldn't disguise his trepidation or disgust. He decided to center on one person in the room: Honor--he was the man who gave the go-ahead to Lorde. Pushing up higher on the enemy pillow, he prepared for the worst.  
  
Yawning, Honor lugged a chair from the table and sat to Jack's left. He took out a cigarette and lit it.  
  
*No, I don't need this..... my precious air contaminated.*  
  
Not a fan of small talk, Honor proceeded as if there'd been no interval. "We know of a transmittal of sub-space code from an area within Mt. Cheyenne on or about July 14, 1999. Unusual. Unidentifiable." He blew out a tendriling line of smoke parallel to the bed. "You know anything about that, either of you?"  
  
Daniel coughed, sniffling.  
  
"Bursts of neutrino energy originating from Cheyenne have been detected by our people. Know anything about _that_?" He drew in again, this time blowing smoke toward the colonel.  
  
Jack turned away and coughed as well, reining in his temper. "Could we have some water?" he requested, politely as a Sunday school boy.  
  
"No water. Said you weren't thirsty."  
  
"Come on," Jack whined. "What harm would it do?"  
  
"I'd like s-some, too," added Daniel, contemplating Honor's next command.  
  
"Jackson, you've been researching for years, why is it your work is so time-consuming?"  
  
"Consulting." Daniel decided he'd offer no more reasonable defenses. They would never be satisfied.  
  
"Can you untie me?" said Jack, distracting Honor. "My ass is sore."  
  
As far as Daniel could figure, O'Neill was attempting to wear them out with inane inquiries. *These guys won't fall for it.*   
  
"You haven't changed." Smoke jettisoned from the corner of Honor's lips. "Always a goofball when it suits you."  
  
"Thought you'd forgotten."  
  
"I don't owe you squat." Honor threw the cigarette on the floor and crushed it. "Can you verify that the stargate contains thirty-two symbols?" he said, standing to push the chair toward the door.  
  
"We don't know what--" started Daniel.  
  
"You're talking about," finished Honor. "Yeah, I got that part."  
  
Jack flexed his neck and it cracked. "I'm getting really tired here, what say we continue this in the morning? Better yet, same time next year."  
  
Lorde had leaned back on the headboard, mashing Daniel's arm against it. *Don't bother. He's playing with your psyche. Keep an eye on Honor, ignore the moron. Take a full breath, don't panic. God, please don't let me panic.*   
  
"Doctor, you were once arrested by police yet no charges were ever filed. Tell us about it."   
  
"I have no knowledge of that and neither does he," said Jack.  
  
*He's answering for me again--the aegis of O'Neill.*   
  
Honor grew impatient. "Three minutes, Jack, four. After five, he's really beyond hope."  
  
*Anytime..... no..... can't deal with this.....Can you store air?* Daniel's muscles braced, heart thumped beneath his shirt, armpits wet. He breathed in as deeply as possible, chills tumbling through his shoulders. *Don't show it, don't let them have the satisfaction.* And how he found the gall to speak he didn't know, but he did: "Will you get off my arm, please?" he asked Lorde, eyes locked on Honor. *Why am I saying please?* "It's getting numb."  
  
Gazing down, Lorde tousled Daniel's hair intentionally; the doctor flinched. "Nervous?" he taunted, not budging one millimeter.  
  
The doctor squirmed from under him. "Keep your hands off me."  
  
"I need to go to the mens' room," said Jack. "Been awhile."  
  
"A privilege unavailable to you....." Honor stepped around the bed. "Until you can confirm for us the existence of the stargate."  
  
"Stargate? Sounds like cheap sci-fi crap. Making this up as you go along?"  
  
*Attitude.....I can't stand it, Jack. My skin is crawling. Where's the rescue party? Sam, Teal'c? Invade. Break down the door.* From the side, Daniel detected a non-verbal message from O'Neill: Buy time, I know, buy time, wear them down, distract, divert. Remind them we're human beings. *I suspect they know already.*  
  
Removing his jacket, Honor folded it over the footboard. "Cumulative damage, Jack."  
  
"It's colonel."  
  
*What's Honor talking about?* Daniel shrank back when Lorde finally sat forward, rose and stretched, then resumed his station. The arm had fallen asleep; it was heavy, dead. *Stay focused--forget about it, it'll be fine on its own.*  
  
"I'm hungry," said Jack. "You hungry, Daniel? We were on our way to this great--"  
  
"Damn it, shut up," shouted Honor. "Can you confirm that the U.S. military is in possession of alien technologies?"  
  
The captives were silent.  
  
"Talk to me!"  
  
Keep an eye on.....be ready..... calm.....  
  
"How many planets have you visited?"  
  
Daniel felt dizzy, warm. *It's stifling in here.* He began to hyperventilate. *Not the way to do it.*   
  
"Did you know....." whispered Honor, his lip so close it flicked Jack's ear, "Even a healthy heart shouldn't be subject to these kinds of extremes? The shock can be fatal."  
  
The colonel's voice hushed; Daniel could not hear: "If he dies, I will send you to hell with your balls packed down your throat."  
  
Unreactive, Honor moved strategically between the captives and leaned over Daniel, his words delivered with emphasis, fists on the bed, one foot away. "You have an irregular schedule. Who do you work for?"  
  
*Control.....don't panic.....Jack, can't see you.....*  
  
"You disappeared from the academic world however here you are with an officer in the U.S. Air Force. We know you and he arrive at Cheyenne about the same time and leave about the same time. What do you two really do?"  
  
"I.....I consult."  
  
"No, wrong answer. What are you hiding?"  
  
Daniel fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and scream at the top of his lungs. He had no choice; he fixed his attention on the blue eyes above--anticipating the subtle signal--while on the other side a madman awaited his next opportunity.  
  
"Can you confirm the existence of the SGC?"  
  
"I c-can't," said Daniel, tongue swiping blood on the inside of his lip.  
  
"I said leave him alone, he doesn't know anything. He's a egghead." Jack was caught in the net. "I've told you--we don't know what you're talking about."  
  
*Egghead?*  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"Not that again," Jack protested.  
  
"You can avoid this. He doesn't have to suffer."  
  
"We didn't choose to come here."  
  
"Tell me about the gate."  
  
"There you go changing the subject again."  
  
"I'm getting tired of your idiocy."  
  
"We feel the same way," said Jack. "Let us go."  
  
*Honor is straightening up.*  
  
It wasn't much. A nod, an eyebrow slightly arched. It was enough; Daniel saw it. He stole one inhalation to prolong his life, dispatched one message to his mind: *Don't panic.* Instinct dominated: Claw the hands away, tear them from my face, chop them off at their base, rip them into bloody shreds with my bare hands.....my imprisoned hands. *God no!* Lorde was on his knees above him, seizing more pleasure in cruelty than any alien ever had.  
  
"Son-of-a-bitch, don't do this," called Jack, wrists chafed from constant resistance. "It won't do you any good!"  
  
Daniel wrapped his fingers around the chains, grasped until it hurt, aching to break loose. *You can't do this to me!* The enemy pillow cradled his head while he strained to the left, sustaining the ruthless task. It had to be true: Cement had been poured into his nasal cavities and mouth, flowing down into the esophagus and lungs, hardened and solid, impenetrable. The sucking noises within his nose returned while the single, feeble breath expired. *Struggle.....I can't help it.*  
  
Honor goaded O'Neill. "His cells are starving for oxygen. He'll eventually die."  
  
"Let him go.....please."  
  
"Now it's please? Wonders never cease."  
  
"Fuck you! Let him alone."  
  
"Neurons begin to die after four minutes. Irreversible. How long's it been?" Honor noted his watch. "Not good Jack."  
  
"You'll kill him."  
  
"Confirm the existence of the SGC."  
  
"Hang on, Daniel. Hang on."  
  
"He's turning blue."  
  
"I swear to God, I'll kill you."  
  
"Must feel terrible," said Honor slowly, as though he cared. "Tell us about the stargate. _Now_, Jack! Or you'll never see him the same again."  
  
"There's nothing to tell.....Get your goon off!"  
  
"Why was Jackson once in the nut house?"  
  
"None of your business."  
  
"You paid a visit while he was there. Why?"  
  
"Stress, he was stressed. Stop it!"  
  
"Why was he stressed?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Wrong answer."  
  
"You have to stop this. He's dying, there's--"  
  
"Why was he stressed?"  
  
"Too much, t-too much to do, too many....."  
  
"Too many what? Too many trips through the gate?"  
  
"No no.....personal problems, depression."  
  
"You're lying."  
  
"Fuck you!"  
  
"What happens on the mountain Jack? Where do you go?"  
  
"I can't follow you."  
  
"The stargate, where does it take you?"  
  
"No such thing....."  
  
"Give me something."  
  
"Nothing to give."  
  
"I need a reason to let this man live."  
  
"Daniel's innocent."  
  
"And what are you guilty of Jack?"  
  
"I don't have what you need!"  
  
"Give me a reason."  
  
"Impossible.....gotta' be another way."  
  
"Primitive fears are the worst. No way out. How can you stand it?"  
  
"This is _not_ my doing. You'll kill him--call your screw-faced asshole _off_!"  
  
"Can you confirm the existence of the SGC?"  
  
"I don't believe you.....we are not lying."  
  
"No one will know, Jack."  
  
"My job is classified--damn it, there's nothing to tell!"  
  
"The highest brain centers will be affected first. The first to go."  
  
"What do you want from me?"  
  
"Not looking good Jack."  
  
"It's too long, he--"  
  
"Permanent damage."  
  
"No....."  
  
Inside Daniel, the wall of survival crumbled. He'd begun to wrestle, legs kicking, spine compressed over the comforter, neck extended backwards, fingers unfolding then gnarled in spasms, Lorde pressing more forcefully with each jingle of the chains--grown to a continuous clinking. The world about him blurred, body in agony. *I'm going to die.....*  
  
"Go with it, Daniel, stand fast," cried Jack, tilting past Honor to see him. "There's no reason for this. Quit it--Now!"  
  
"Will you tell me what you know about the stargate?"  
  
"No stargate.....no nothing....." Jack's fingertips bled yet he didn't feel it. "Kill him you still get nothing."  
  
The doctor shuddered; the jingling ceased.  
  
Honor went to the head of the bed. "His eyelids are fluttering."  
  
Jack's heart wanted out of his chest. "Please, Mark, don't do this," he pleaded, Daniel going limp. "It's wrong. We are _not lying_."  
  
"Human vegetables are a terrible tragedy. You can spare him."  
  
"We don't know.....I.....this is so unnecessary."  
  
*Light leaving.....struggling..... go with it..... ringing..... who it that?.....don't feel anything.....damn it, close your eyes..... almost over.....memento mori.....remember to die.....I can see it, Jack.....the lid.....*  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
In the night breeze, a branch scraped the window and nocturnal animals made their rounds, scurrying through the crisp layers of leaves and pine needles. The light in the cabin flickered; Jack's eyes riveted on the man on the bed. Belly rising and falling, even. Thankfully even.  
  
_Wake up, Daniel._  
  
Since losing consciousness, he'd lain frozen in the same position: head tilted into the pillow, mouth ajar; wrinkles on the edges of his lips where the skin had creased; fingerprints becoming bruises; knee twisted in unnaturally; right elbow extended, left bent, hands dangling above the mattress; shirts scrunched around his waist, one shoe cast off. Comforter rumpled. The absence of jingling.  
  
"Daniel." Jack needed a response. He called again, louder. Honor's nasty lecture looped around his memory. Brain damage. Four minutes. Five. Six. He knew the score. It hadn't been that long, had it? Impossible to tell. No clocks, watch covered by the ropes, Daniel's timepiece apparently removed by their captors. The asphyxiation by that madman had seemed of an interminable duration. However, those kinds of moments tended to progress in slow motion while you burned to the quick, powerless. He'll be fine. Once he wakes up.  
  
"Damn it. _Wake up._" Listening for signs of vehicles, Jack scooted the chair by forceful jerks closer to the window. No headlights, good. He jerked the chair further, next to the bed. "Sleeping beauty.....crap, wake up!"  
  
_He isn't faking._ The colonel reasoned he'd tried to feign the faint, but it was too much to handle. Nothing like self-preservation to throw your best-laid plans out the door.  
  
He scanned the room. Knife, knife.....didn't I see a knife and cheese as I woke up? Find it, snatch it, cut the ropes, reclaim Daniel, split this hellhole. Before they come back. Start hopping, colonel.  
  
A fierce gasp. Twitching arms, legs shifting. Stillness.  
  
"Daniel?" Jack postponed his foray. "Fall in!"  
  
A second gasp, a breath like hiccups. Daniel turned away from him. Quiet.  
  
"That's _it_? I _know_ you can hear me. Quit it, we need to move."  
  
When he didn't stir, Jack resumed his chair-trek, bumping the end of the bed before the doctor groaned. He continued onward while Daniel fought to come out of it, murmuring in spurts. What a lively picture this would paint for Sam and Teal'c. They'd laugh themselves silly if it weren't for the brain damage part.  
  
He addressed his friend between scoots of the chair--a remarkable effort in itself as it was made of oak and he was dehydrated, famished. "If you don't.....open your eyes.....and say hi Jack.....how're you doin'.....then recite.....the Pledge of Allegiance.....to me in.....at least three.....languages.....I will not be.....happy."  
  
At the kitchen table, breathing heavily, he rejoiced: they'd forgotten the steak knife--hidden by the loaf of bread. Daniel rocked his head from side to side, chains tinkling with intermittent tugs. It was oddly pleasing for Jack to hear them again.  
  
He stretched forward; the knife was beyond the reach of his teeth. A fastened chest did not permit flexibility--too far. There was another noise from the bed; Daniel's eyes cracked open drowsily.  
  
"Atta' boy! Come back to papa. You can do it." Jack had another idea. Mister, you _really_ need to wake up, all the way. He steeled his fortitude and hopped the short route to Daniel's right. From here, he had a clear view through the window.  
  
"Hello," said Jack. "You with me?"  
  
The doctor stared at him a moment, blank, gradually searching the room. Distressed, he jerked at the restraints, tried to get up.  
  
"Take it easy. They're out."  
  
Daniel's lips formed to speak but when he moved them, nothing came forth.  
  
"Yes?" Jack encouraged him with expressive eyes. "Try again."  
  
A tiny smile flicked across the doctor's face, then vanished in unexpected confusion. "Where?" he asked.  
  
"Careful. Trust me.We'll be all right. What's your name?"  
  
He didn't answer.  
  
"Okay, let's try again. What's your name?"  
  
The pause was a little too lengthy. "Daniel."  
  
"Last name?"  
  
"Jack.....you're Jack."  
  
"Right. Your last name?"  
  
"Jacks.....s-son. Doctor."  
  
"Sorry, can't hold any fingers up. Know where you are?"  
  
"I tried to.....calm."  
  
"No talking. Move. Untie me before they come back."  
  
"Couldn't."  
  
"Forget it. You have to untie me." _It's not sinking in_, thought Jack, examining the doctor's vacant face. "Listen to me. Focus, okay? Lorde and Honor, they'll be back. We have to be _gone_." Jack rotated his chair near the bed. "Pull your hand over as far as you can and untie me."  
  
"Lid closed."  
  
"Lid? I don't.....forget that, whatever. You're okay. You're here, I'm here." _Try harder, Daniel._ "We need to move!"  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
"Danny, fast forward, we're way past. Untie me."  
  
"There's a briefing..... Monday morning."  
  
"You're really scaring me now--stop it! Please, _please_, concentrate."  
  
His eyes darted about the room. "This isn't your house."  
  
"Look at me, damn it."  
  
"I feel sick."  
  
"Don't you dare, not yet."  
  
"I need to untie you."  
  
Jack grinned. "Yes, yes!"  
  
Daniel came as close to the bed's edge as possible, drawing the left chain taut until the cuff drove into his skin. The curve of the iron bed rods on the right, welded to resemble vines, allowed the cuff attached to the rod to slide further out and downward, the extension providing enough slack for Daniel to touch the ties on Jack's wrist. Lifting his shoulders, he used stomach muscles to stay upright, pull forward. But the light source, a tiny sconce over the table, made it difficult to see where to begin. With Jack's instruction, he discovered and dug his thumb and index finger into a knot at the top, the metal ring wrinkling his flesh.  
  
He squeezed his eyes, head hung forward. "Floating."  
  
"Don't worry about it, keep working," advised Jack.  
  
"I'll just pretend....." Daniel grunted, unable to pinch the strand. "I haven't wet my pants."  
  
Jack inspected the bed. "Sh--."  
  
"Kidding."  
  
"Hurry!"  
  
Daniel's hands were numb; Lorde's hefty weight had not done them any good. And there was something about lying in a strange bed for hours and not knowing whether you would live or die that wore a man out. He scratched at the main strand, fraying the soft fibers. Straining his shoulders, he braced his upper body and gave the last sum of energy over to two fingers prying on one spot.  
  
"Try the other side," said Jack, wiggling the chair.  
  
"No, I.....uh.....almost.....agh.....got it! There."  
  
The strand came out, the convoluted knot unraveling step by step until Jack could feel a looseness in his wrist. In a few minutes, he was able to lift the entire arm up an inch and he slipped it out from under the tunnel of loops.  
  
Collapsing on the pillow, Daniel sighed, eased his muscles, peering out the window for signs of their captors.  
  
Jack shook out his arm, encouraging the blood flow, and fumbled with the left. He progressed swiftly; he was soon untied. Standing, he growled from the pain of stiff muscles and hustled to the window, back crooked. No sign of anyone.  
  
"Legs," prompted Daniel.  
  
Jack picked up the knife and sawed through the ropes on his ankles. Both ties severed easily.  
  
Daniel drew in his legs. "Yeah, good.....no.....bad, bad."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Wrenched knee. No problem. Cuffs?"  
  
Jack was truly a jack-of-all-trades. "Keep an eye out," he replied. "I'll need something....." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "They pilfered my stuff. Got anything on you?"  
  
"Like.....?"  
  
Before he completed the sentence, Jack was on the bed, picking through the doctor's shirt and jeans' pockets, leaving the latter flopped inside out. "Empty. Where's a lock pick when you need one?" He left Daniel and searched through several drawers and cabinets in the kitchen.  
  
The doctor reclined against the ironwork headboard, carefully flexing in his stressed leg. "Hurry!"  
  
"Shhhh.....holy shit there's nothing here."  
  
"Try the bath."  
  
Jack was in and out in seconds. "Nothing." He spied Honor's jacket on the footboard and frisked it. "Damn." He was considering the backpacks when he noticed that on top of the refrigerator a stack of newspapers had been organized with a large black binder clip. "Hum.....worth a try." He grabbed the papers, dust flying everywhere, and swiped the clip, removing one of its metal wire handles with a gentle squeeze. It had a neat bend at the end.  
  
"Anything?" asked the colonel.  
  
"Nothing, no lights."  
  
Holding Daniel's wrist, Jack picked at the cuff lock and jiggled it, manipulating its insides expertly.  
  
"You've done this before," said Daniel.  
  
"I'll never tell."  
  
The cuff opened. "Yes," they exclaimed. Jack broke his own record on the second cuff, unlocking it in half the time.  
  
"We're outta' here!" Jumping off the bed, O'Neill raided the refrigerator, stuffing the last two beers into his pants, headed into the bathroom. "We'll take the back." His hand was on the back exit's knob before he realized Daniel wasn't there.  
  
The doctor limped toward the bath, carrying his shoe. "Help."  
  
"Here." Jack grabbed him by the elbow and took weight off the knee. "Only you could actually hurt yourself in bed," he said, replacing the footwear.  
  
"Bastard Lorde," said Daniel. "You know Honor."  
  
"We're acquainted. Sells to the highest bidder." He opened the door and peeked out. "Clear."  
  
They crossed briskly from the cabin area into the hilly encircling forest, the sliver of a first quarter moon on its daily journey.  
  
"Which way?" asked Daniel. "Don't even know where we are."  
  
"Down. You can't climb."  
  
Without speaking, they forged ahead in the dark, Daniel's discomfort bursting out in repressed cries when the leg would slip on the terrain or fold under him. The last slip sent him writhing to the ground.  
  
"Wait," he said, clutching his knee. "I need.....crap.....a few days."  
  
"We'll lay low until light. Before we both high-dive off a cliff."  
  
The doctor agreed.  
  
"But not here. This way." He assisted Daniel by curling his elbow around his neck, leading them to a grove of trees barely visible under the waxing moon.  
  
"Time?" The doctor backed against a tree. "Weird to lose so many hours."  
  
Under his shirt, Jack pushed a button on his watch; it glowed. "Oh-three-hundred."  
  
"Where'd they go?"  
  
"Don't know. They're careless." O'Neill took out a beer and popped it. "Ouch," he said, fingertips raw.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Never mind." He teased his thirst, handing the remainder to Daniel. "I'll take watch. Sleep."  
  
Daniel indulged in a long drink. "You. I don't want to."  
  
"Had enough?"  
  
"Just don't want to." He rubbed his neck, twinges of pain burrowing into the muscle. "How long was I out?"  
  
"Enough to make me ancy."  
  
"Thought I was dead."  
  
"I thought you were, too. Honor's capable of it, that's for sure."  
  
"Never experienced anything like that before."  
  
"You did good," said Jack, a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "Better than I would've." He rested beside him. "We'll both wait. First light in about two point five, three hours."  
  
Finishing the can, Daniel decided beer wasn't so bad after all. He relished the fresh air--vast, square miles of it, unimpeded. *Two point five.....three..... three point five.....four, five.....It's history; I'm alive.*   
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
The few hours passed quickly with a paucity of words between the fugitives, a bearable briskness in the atmosphere. They reasoned they'd been unconscious and in transport somewhere between four and five hours after their abduction. Pricking their ears the whole night, they anticipated danger, filtering out the usual from the unusual in the forest of the early morning, noting a far light that glowed into the sky.  
  
Daniel was tempted to succumb to sleep; twenty-three hours had passed since he'd risen into what he'd predicted would be an uneventful, relaxing day. But falling asleep meant inviting a clammy palm to cover his mouth, knuckles to seal his nose, cold metal to clamp his wrists, rope to keep him down, a soldier to plead for his life--as vulnerable as any human being.  
  
"Time to go," said Jack.  
  
"It's still dark."  
  
"Not for long. Knee gonna' make it?"  
  
"It'll have to. You're not going back there."  
  
"That's the spirit. Still got the can?"  
  
Daniel had squashed it flat and tucked it in his shirt pocket.  
  
"Be right back," said Jack. He darted past the trees and out of Daniel's view briefly, then reappeared. "Sly bit of misdirection.....add luck and stir."  
  
With support, Daniel got to his feet and they made their way east, Jack scouring the area behind them every few yards.  
  
"We rationing the beer?" asked Daniel in an attempt at distraction.  
  
"Don't you know? Had it last night while you took a leak."  
  
"I didn't take a....." He stopped mid-sentence, reflecting. "You know."  
  
"It's okay, happens to the best of us."  
  
"You?"  
  
"No, not me. Never. Nope."  
  
"Think they're looking for us?"  
  
"Can't be sure," said Jack. "Not sure they're even human."  
  
"Ate like humans."  
  
"Ham and eggs would go great right now."  
  
Daniel's skin paled at the mention of food; his appetite had not been restored.  
  
The sun slipped out from between the hills and the traveling improved. Unfortunately, dawn also demoted them to targets with one wimpy knife between them, empty fuel tanks and a bum limb, not to mention Jack's sore flanks. They picked up their pace while the breezes swelled and the incline grew steeper, Daniel tolerating the pain in anticipation of freedom. At times they half-slid together down the mountainsides before hiking to their feet, slapped in the face by protruding branches.  
  
A gunshot exploded into the valley. Jack dove into action and ducked for cover, hauling the doctor to a formation of boulders.  
  
Daniel collapsed, leg held straight. "It's them."  
  
"Maybe. Maybe not. Could be hunters."  
  
"_Precisely_ what we need. Hunting season?"  
  
"Generally, yes. If not, it's them," offered Jack. "Came from the other direction."  
  
"They must be familiar with this area--more than us."  
  
"Short-cuts."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
Another shot rang out.  
  
"Wait here," warned Jack, assigning Daniel the knife and crouching around the stone.  
  
"Jack, no!"  
  
"Shhhh.....Head down, back to the rock. Stay sharp."  
  
O'Neill was unstoppable, but Daniel respected the advice and clutched the knife. *What am I supposed to do with this?* He endured, remembering. *Won't go back there. I'll kill them first.*   
  
Alert, Daniel twitched at the pops of cracking twigs, swaying branches, and the crinkle of dried leaves that wafted in from the wonderful world of nature. "Jack?" he said, softly. Flocks of birds disrupted the flow; their chirping and fluttering wings presided over the soundscape. Scanning left, he jumped when the O'Neill appeared from the right.  
  
"Ah!"  
  
Jack frowned and reflexively put his hand to Daniel's mouth. "Shhhh....."  
The doctor smacked the hand away.  
  
"Chill!" said Jack. "Do I have to keep telling you?"  
  
"Well?"  
  
A third shot echoed into the valley. It was louder.  
  
O'Neill gave Daniel a boost. "It's them. Let's move."  
  
"See them?"  
  
"No, infinite powers of deduction."  
  
"Why the hell are they shooting?"  
  
"They're either trying to get us running--flush us out--or taking pot-shots, stop us in our tracks."  
  
"Kill us," said Daniel.  
  
"Yup."  
  
"I prefer the first scenario."  
  
"So do I," agreed Jack. Pressing on, they glued themselves within the camouflage provided by the deepest vegetation.  
  
Daniel shoved a limb away. "We're lost."  
  
Hopping from an embankment, Jack turned and lowered him down to the next level. "But isn't it a beautiful day for it?" Both perspired profusely, bearing the fatigue of unrelenting pressure. Jack dropped to the topsoil against the embankment. "Go to ground. Rest. Minute."  
  
Following suit, Daniel observed clouds that gathered in the distance, his face smeared with perspiration and dust. He favored his leg, bowed toward it, picking at a hole torn in the fabric.  
  
The colonel came near and poked his fingers into the hole. He ripped it further, exposing the knee. "Pretty swollen."  
  
Daniel affirmed. *Pretty crippling, too.*  
  
Producing their last can of beer, Jack offered it up. "No use saving." They finished it together, gratefully. "Come on," ordered Jack, offering a lift.  
  
"Go alone."  
  
"No. Get up. It's not broken."  
  
"You have a better chance a--"  
  
"Come on." Jack scanned the perimeter and moved behind Daniel, slipping both arms under his. "Get up." He hoisted the doctor to his feet.  
  
"Ow.....no," said Daniel, suppressing an outcry. "Damn it, Jack. I'll hide--your turn to find civilization."  
  
There was another shot; its echo reverberated into their skulls.  
  
"They're catching up," said Jack. "We'll run into something. I'm not leaving you."  
  
They pushed forward, humidity increasing with the overcast sky. For the doctor, things began to meld together, indistinguishable. Identical trees, rocks and underbrush bumped by on a conveyor belt as they descended--always descending, aside from the necessary sidetracks in spots where it was easier to climb down by not pursuing a direct path. His throat was parched, head swimming with the heat engendered from excessive exercise. Jack undertook the burden of the majority of his weight while the misused leg shirked its responsibilities. Nothing emerged: neither house nor ranger's station, nor paved street, sloppy backroad or campground, nor stream nor aid in any form.  
  
Stopping near an ancient conifer, Daniel crumpled at its base to his back, breathing intensely, Jack in the same condition--cuts bleeding on his forehead from a wayward branch he hadn't seen coming. They didn't talk, gathering what survived of their waning stamina. It'd been over thirty minutes since they'd last heard a shot.  
  
The doctor checked his jeans' pocket, making sure the knife had not fallen out in the chase. "We lose them?"  
  
"Don't know." Jack rose. Through the forest, as the clouds parted, there was the glint of something shining in the sun. "Hello--what's that?"  
  
Daniel sprang to an elbow. "Eureka."  
  
The promise of sanctuary boosted their wills; in a drumbeat, they were on their way toward the shining object amid the green.  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
"Damn, damn, crap, damn." Jack's disappointment overwhelmed him and he gazed up into the sky. "Why?"  
  
Enveloped within the trees, they'd come before a large clearing, about a hundred feet wide. Extended along the middle of the clearing: a fence--erected not for livestock or wild game, but for people. To keep them out, keep them in.  
  
"Can't be," said Daniel, supported by a crooked bough. "It's electric, isn't it?"  
  
Jack rolled against a trunk, clasped his head, frustrated. "Bingo."  
  
The signs were unmistakable: a seven-foot fence mounted with several strands of stainless wire and steel brackets. And although brush had partially obscured the writing, a sign hung on the fence which they assumed was a warning.  
  
"Bet it's all hot. Nine thousand volts a smack," said Jack. "Good news is, it won't kill you. But I wouldn't want to test it."  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"We'll parallel it, stay out of the clearing. There has to be an exit somewhere."  
  
"North or south?"  
  
"Light last night was north, northeast." Jack prepared to serve as human crutch once more. "It's a date. Let's hit it."  
  
Daniel froze. His expression told the story; he thought it best he didn't go.  
  
"Don't start that again," said Jack. "It's not up to you. It's up to me."  
  
"This isn't a mission."  
  
"To me, it is."  
  
*How long can we go on like this?* "Heck, why not? Have one good leg left."  
  
They stumbled away. "You're not going back there," said Jack.  
  
Daniel glanced over their shoulders. "Me either."  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
At its base, the fence had been overgrown by sparse shrubbery in places yet someone had taken pains to maintain the fifty-foot margins on either side. They advanced stealthily and prayed their next discovery would be a gate or control box that Jack might rig, granting them liberty.  
  
"How far've we come?" Daniel closed his eyes tightly with every step.  
  
"Seven, maybe eight, kliks."  
  
"Seems like.....ouch.....more."  
  
"Could be. Okay?"  
  
Daniel assured him he was. *Funny how those trees keep jumping in our way though.* He settled into a stupor, eyesight doubled, hot sweat like a ring of fire around his neck, water the favorite fantasy, replacing the standard one for today. Their fight-or-flight had transformed a minor injury into a serious problem; his once healthy limb had become a peg leg, christened with never-ending pain. *Can't give up--a nap would be nice.*  
  
"You there, Jack?"  
  
"Present and accounted for, sir," answered the colonel, scanning ahead. "And the winner is....."  
  
Daniel elevated his wilted head. "Eureka deux," he said as a gleaming gate appeared through the forest.  
  
Jack let him go. "Wait here." And he was off into the margin.  
  
The doctor went to ground, watching through the ubiquitous leaves and pine needles. Running, Jack was almost to the gate when a gunshot discharged. A startled Daniel dropped to his stomach and shimmied further under the tree, keeping sight of O'Neill within a frame of plentiful young branches and undergrowth. The colonel had halted and stood in the center of the frame, arms raised to the air in surrender. *We waltzed right into it.*  
  
Honor appeared within the frame, wielding a rifle. "Where's your buddy?"  
  
"Where's yours?" asked Jack.  
  
"Hands on your head."  
  
The colonel complied while his captor circled him.  
  
"On your knees," ordered Honor, spying the trees. "Where is he?"  
  
"Gone for beer."  
  
Honor removed an object from his pants and held it up. "There's a thousand dollar fine for littering." It was the smashed can that Jack had planted as a diversion. "We weren't finished with our visit. Disappointed to see you go." He tossed the can away, and shouted toward the forest: "Got anything?"  
  
Lorde cropped up from the groves and signaled, also armed.  
  
"He'll find him," said Honor. "Don't know what he'll do though. Not happy-- doesn't care for hunting."  
  
Jack sat back on his heels, profoundly drained.  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
A beleaguered deer named Daniel employed the wisest form of protection available: concealment. He'd overheard garbled portions of the conversation between Jack and Honor, including the part with Lorde. Daniel didn't need to hear clearly to know he was the fox in the hunt. The madman had to be south of him somewhere.  
  
He slid the knife out of his pocket and wriggled to his back, the bottom-most offshoots scraping his body as pinecones pricked him in uncomfortable regions, knee rebelling against the movements. *No noise Daniel, no whimpers.* Pausing, he reaffirmed his self-control and let the aggravation subside. The birds scrambled haphazardly and evacuated with the impending threat of storm. Spider webs and wayward limbs dangled over his head while a clump of needles poked the corner of his eye. He turned away and didn't dare move an arm to prod the clump away. One good thing about being on your back: No one could sneak up behind you.  
  
He was afraid, frustrated. Overwhelmingly thirsty, itchy. Lying here reminded him of the way he'd lain on the bed, withstood the unthinkable. He could see the wooden beams, the imposing headboard, and Lorde tormenting him as if he'd done it a million times before. *What makes a man so callous?* Daniel felt as though he'd been turned on a spit but lived to tell the tale of how close he'd come to being eaten alive.  
  
A second round rang out; Daniel gripped the knife at his chest.  
  
*Oh my God, Jack.* He craned his head; O'Neill was all right. *They're attempting to scare me; it's working.* Respiration accelerating, he juggled his options. Lie here and get snared, maybe. Take the offense: get up, find Lorde, ambush him. *God, commando isn't my forte.* Or run as fast as I can in the opposite direction, any direction away from here. Leave Jack? Go for reinforcements. *Shit, I can't run. How far would I get?*  
  
Honor's and Jack's voices drifted in and out with the motion of the trees in the strengthening wind. It had begun to sprinkle and he yearned to have the moisture on his tongue. *I have to act now. Lorde is changing location with every passing second.*   
  
Waiting until a gust exploded through the treetops, he hauled himself up, using his good leg and biceps. *Damn, who ever knew it would be so hard to get off the ground?* Sweat trickled down his temples, gray tee shirt and button-down blackened back and front. *Lorde should be able to smell me coming.* The madman had probably gorged on Jack's dream-ham-and-eggs before pursuing his game that morning.  
  
Daniel's system magnified his senses: eyesight lucid; hearing deployed like sensors which recorded and analyzed sounds, distinguishing them as friend or foe; nose categorizing scents known to him from those unfamiliar, taste buds working in conjunction. Would it be his ears or eyes to find the nemesis first? Judging from Lorde's sparkling character, Daniel believed he would have to kill or be killed.  
  
*My feet are on packed sod covered with a loose layer of dust, standing in leaves and debris that crackle when I step, my back aches but can hold me up yet, my hand contains a knife at the ready, my leg is unsteady--I'll have to compensate for it when the time comes, ignore the pain. Crawling and climbing are out of the question.*   
  
He wiped drips from his eyes with a forearm and cautiously came out from the branches. Remaining mostly obscured, he panned his vision across the trees that stood about like sentries. Any one of them could be hiding Lorde.  
  
*I've got to keep going--probably can't take him in this condition. Somewhere, somehow, there has got to be a way around that fence. Dum spiro, spero: While I breathe, I hope.* Thunder bellowed, approaching rapidly.  
  
Limping, he crouched over as far as his leg would permit and advanced to the north, zigzagging trunk to trunk, discovering exactly how much Jack's support had been necessary, how much he missed it. Without assistance, he kicked up dust which Lorde might be able to see rising. He prayed that an increase in the rainfall would minimize the dust and any unpleasant odors. In addition, it would prove an advantage in dampening sight and sound--but that advantage would also benefit Lorde  
  
He proceeded deeper into the forest, away from the clearing, tracing a path slightly northwest; assuming Lorde would track along the fence. The slope of the landscape was such that his knee underwent additional hardship, frequently on the higher slant. *What will they do with Jack? He'll take care of himself--like he always has. Most of the time.*  
  
The clap of the rifle fractured Daniel's assurance. *No, it's not for Jack; he's fine, they only want to flush me out.* Sprinkles matured to a steady rainfall and Daniel paused in the foliage to catch a few precious drops with his outstretched tongue. *More, more, please.....I have to continue.*  
  
He tripped--straight to his shoulder and knee--grinding molars to squelch the yell, the knife flying out of his palm. Crawling on his stomach, he scuffed toward it. As he picked it up, a cluster of stones dislodged and cascaded downward over a shallow ledge. Sitting up, he felt the layer underneath disintegrate whereupon it spun and spilled him a short way before he came to a dead stop in a newly formed puddle. The rain had quickly developed into a sizable downpour and thunder and lightning threatened, chasing out the timorous.  
  
Surprised, he was glad to see he'd retained the knife. Picking himself up, the water began to wash away the mud while he buckled against the rock ledge and bent over, catching his breath from the miserable pain. Once recovered, he aimed his face toward the clouds. The drops were short-lived seeds of encouragement, faith without substance.  
  
The rifle sent its distinct message, bullet ricocheting off the stone inches in front of him, arms protecting his face. He fell back, shuffling fast, elbow along the ledge toward a solid grouping of pines.  
  
Entering the perimeter of the dense grove, Lorde bounded up from below and fired again, running up the hill, sliding in the wet soil. The shot missed its prey and struck a tree, bark-shards scattering 220 degrees.   
  
*Kill or be killed.* Daniel flattened his spine to a wide knotty trunk, prepared to carve steak. He heard nothing except the spatter of rain that trickled through the wood and the electrical beast above him clapping like a rude upstairs neighbor. *Underneath a tree in a thunderstorm.....smart.* Lorde could approach from either side; he'd have to be swift.  
  
He steadied his nerves, cooled by the precipitation, admirable wind and drop in temperature, chilled to the bone in apprehension. His knee throbbed and swelled inside the fabric, filling out the folds, stiff as the tree behind him. The beast crashed overhead, searing into the atmosphere.  
  
Leaning out, Daniel spied him and pulled back. Lorde tiptoed in along the right--the madman, the *hostis humani generis* --enemy of the human race--arrogant in his superiority, potent weapon in his possession. In the tempest, Lorde would be able to see merely as well as the prey, especially away from the shield of the forest canopy.  
  
Daniel carried the knife turned downward, raised to attack, chest pumped, hurt swept temporarily away, driven out by a palatable exigency. If his senses had been sharpened as the hunted, they were perfected as the hunter. Kill or be killed? There was no question.  
  
A flash of light, thunder at its heels, revealed a fragmented shadow-figure. Daniel rushed forward; the knife plunged. Lorde whirled and brought the rifle up; the knife blade deflected sideways, slicing his upper arm. Daniel drew the knife back again to strike, balance at a disadvantage, and dipped it toward Lorde's chest. The madman abandoned the gun to save his life and while another bolt of lightning snapped, he seized Daniel's wrist, pounding a fist into the doctor's abdomen. The knife, hurled out and into the branches, was lost in the underbrush.  
  
Doubling-over, Daniel hit the ground deliberately to obtain the weapon at their feet. Lorde sustained a firm hold on Daniel's wrist despite his injury, and they scrambled in the mud to win the prize. Tearing away, the doctor laid hands on the barrel and flipped over to fire. But Lorde was on his tail, throwing heavy pounds upon the doctor, straddling his torso. He smashed Daniel's head into the earth, palm stretched across his brow, the gun sandwiched between their chests and tugged back and forth until Lorde bounced on his opponent's ribcage, knocking the air from him. Though dazed, Daniel would not relent; Lorde pinned his arms over him to the carpet of mush.  
  
"Let go," yelled Lorde, blood leaking on to his sleeve. "You can't win."  
  
Daniel could barely breathe, rainwater from his opponent's hair and body poured into his eyes. "Get off me!" he demanded, thunder clipping off the final word.  
  
"Let go! It's over. You lose."  
  
"No, get--no!--get off me, pervert," screamed Daniel. "Leave me alone!"  
  
The storm was at its peak, the elements combined into one entity. Lorde contained the doctor's forearms and beat them into the ground, mud splashing their eyes and mouths. The doctor choked and coughed on the taste of soil, clung to the stock and barrel, determined to triumph. *He'll kill me now or later.*  
  
"Give up," said Lorde, easing the battle with Daniel's arms, but maintaining a crushing grasp. The din of the torrent raced full speed and he shouted: "Or I'll call Honor and tell him what he can do with your friend."  
  
"And how you gonna' do that?" asked Daniel. He squirmed, trying to wrest his arms free. "Got your hands full, stupid."  
  
"Fuck you, Jackson." With that he heaved up and bounced a second time, shifting his grip to the center of the rifle, the other hand stealing into his jacket to extract a phone.  
  
The doctor watched him dial, speechless. By the time he regained his voice, Lorde conversed with Honor. *Bluffing? Can't be sure.....*   
  
"All right!" said Daniel, furious, fists opening. "Dickhead."  
  
Lorde claimed the rifle and got off. "We have a ways to go. Step on it."  
  
Coming up on his elbows wearily, Daniel rolled to his side, muddied and cold, weighing more than when he'd gone down. He spit out grains of dirt while water pooled about the outline of his body. "I need help."  
  
"I hate civilians," complained Lorde. "Son of a gun, get up."  
  
"I'm telling you--look at my leg."  
  
The madman acknowledged its poor state. Although muddied, the knee was plainly a third above its normal size. "Didn't bother you when you ambushed me. Use a tree," ordered Lorde. "Stop sniveling."  
  
Daniel wormed his way over the earth to the nearest branch and raised up, hugging his middle. "I can't walk. Especially uphill." He wavered unsteadily as the rain reduced to a slower tempo while the center of the storm blew by.  
  
"To the fence." Lorde motioned with the gun. "Move."  
  
Eyes on the weapon, the doctor staggered, the pain overwhelming. "Can't," he said, shaking his head. "I've done too much."  
  
Lorde jabbed the barrel between his shoulder blades. "If I'd known you two would be this much trouble, I never would've taken this job."  
  
"My deepest, heartfelt sympathies," said Daniel, re-borrowing Jack's sneer.  
  
"Stubborn wimp. Walk!"  
  
Daniel struggled to a toppled tree, hauling his leg like a ball and chain. There he halted. "This might take a long time. If I don't pass out first."  
  
"Damn it." Lorde dipped into a back pocket, taking out cuffs. "On the tree, hands behind you."  
  
"Come on. We don't need those. I can't run away."  
  
"That's the problem. Hands."  
  
When the doctor didn't obey, Lorde charged him and in one skillful sweep, he set the gun aside and slammed him into a broad limb.  
  
"This isn't helping," objected Daniel, cheekbone squished against bark.  
  
"This will." With that, Lorde spun the doctor around and lifted.  
  
Daniel grunted, the ground coming up, ribs compressed, rainwater flowing into his ears. "Ah, shit, no.....wait, what are--"  
  
Deserting the weapon, Lorde trudged down the hillside. "Shut up, Jackson."  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
At the clearing, Daniel was let down with his back to the fence where he promptly sunk into another mud bath. He cursed at the sensation, leg inflamed in the aftermath.  
  
"You had to take the easy way."  
  
The doctor twisted around. It was Jack, linked to the fence. "You all right?" asked Daniel.  
  
"He's great." Honor guarded them while Lorde uncuffed the colonel. "What happened to you?"  
  
Lorde bound a handkerchief over the wound. "Little shit cut me."  
  
"Doctor, my, you're full of surprises. Guess you've learned a few things from Jack."  
  
"Colonel," corrected Daniel, his tone grim, hoarse.  
  
Honor spoke to O'Neill: "He's your responsibility."  
  
Reinstated into the role of crutch, Jack carefully guided Daniel under his wing. They were herded into a van on the other side of the fence and clipped to the handholds, both soaking wet, Jack behind the passenger's seat.  
  
The van wound through dangerously narrow backroads, passing through another gate several miles south, fresh rain clouds promising further inclement weather. Lorde set the heat on high, presumably for his own comfort, not the captives, since he was as damp and filthy as the doctor although he'd had the benefit of the waterproofed jacket.  
  
Daniel faced his friend, leaning on the sliding door, exhausted, the road's bumps and dips torturing the leg and ribs. His eyes stung and circles hung under them like dark caves. Several times he nodded off, catapulted back into wakefulness by feelings of suffocation.  
  
Jack sneezed, opened and shut his eyes, mute, slumped against the side, shivering uncontrollably from the sticky, damp clothing. Honor had attached him to a deactivated section of the fence for the duration of the storm while he'd fetched a vehicle--kept parked out of sight down a side road. For the length of the trip, the defeated men exchanged intermittent looks of abject displeasure. There was nothing to say; they'd failed.  
  
When they arrived at the cabin; the door slid open. Lorde brought out O'Neill and escorted him in, Honor on watch.  
  
"Hurt?" said Jack, noticing the bandage. "Horribly?"  
  
Lorde pushed him on the sofa. "Your cry-baby doc's no match for me."  
  
"But he'd whomp you at cuneiform, hands-down."  
  
Outside, Daniel hung in suspense, alone; Honor had disappeared after giving the rifle to Lorde. He'd felt a sick, overwhelming dread when they'd stopped. *How far will they take this? Not the bed. As if anything we could tell them would bring them any nearer to the stargate.* He adjusted the placement of his wooden leg, burning spread far into thigh and foot. *I can't play any more of their games.*  
  
Ambling up from nowhere, Honor released Daniel. This time, he graciously aided the doctor in dismounting from the van and into the cabin, deposited next to Jack.  
  
No enemy pillow, no bed. *Relief*, even momentary. Lorde tossed each of them a bottle of water and Daniel stared at him, incredulous at the madman's generosity. Their clothes had dried to a tolerable level, mud flaking into dirt.  
  
"He needs a doctor," said Jack. "Leg's bad."  
  
Honor scrutinized it; the knee bulged through the hole. "Shouldn't have run off."  
  
A phone beeped; he retrieved it and exited to the porch.  
  
Pulling up a chair, Lorde sat backwards with the gun's barrel pointed toward the ceiling. The prisoners opened their bottles, minding the madman.  
  
Daniel sipped the pure liquid, relished the moisture on his chapped lips, sore throat. Finished, he put his head back on the sofa, fighting sleep.  
  
"Go ahead," said Jack. Rain pattered on the roof.  
  
Without comment, Daniel yawned and let his eyelids fall, vaguely registering Lorde's presence, too tired to fear. It had been whipped and dripped out of him. For now, it was enough to accept the reprieve, however uncertain.  
  
ooooOOOOoooo  
  
In the morning, Daniel leapt from anxiety into an ocean of utter soreness and ickyness from hair to soles, his entire leg numb, a black-fringed throw spread out under his chin and over the cuffs. His legs rested on the coffee table and someone had enlarged the hole in his jeans, providing room for the swollen knee to expand. During the night, Jack had wiggled down to the end of the sofa, ear upon the armrest, body folded toward the back. The others were absent.  
  
Lorde entered. "Time to go, boys. Up and at-em." Jack snored lightly.  
  
"Where're you taking us?" asked Daniel, finding it difficult to move without pain. "Why can't you let us go?"  
  
"No questions for you. Rise and shine."  
  
"I need to go to the john."  
  
"I knew I'd regret the water thing. Your pal can cart you over, then we're out of here. Hop to it." He giggled, presumably at his own joke.  
  
"Have another job?" said Daniel, tapping Jack's foot. "Who's it this time? Grandma?"  
  
"Speed it up!"  
  
Grumpily, Jack uncurled; Daniel explained they were leaving. "Home?" said Jack, half-asleep.  
  
"No, guess they're taking us somewhere else."  
  
"Not before breakfast, I hope."  
  
Lorde ordered Jack and Daniel to lie on the floor of the van and a tarp was thrown over their heads and bodies. The ride seemed limitless: potholes and muddy ruts rocked the vehicle back and forth, the men unable to gage their destination other than by Jack's efforts to keep track of turns by sheer sensation and the estimation of distance by his watch. Under the tarp, in whispers, they made plans to defend themselves if bad came to worse.  
  
They sensed the vehicle slow and come to a stop, engine quieted. The back door opened, the tarp withdrawn and pitched aside. Bright sunlight hurt their eyes, forearms raised to shade them.  
  
"This is where we part," said Honor. Lorde stayed in the driver's seat, listening to all-news radio that crackled with bad reception.  
  
"What?" asked Jack, squinting. He piled out and half-carried Daniel by wrapping his arms around him. They stepped away from the van at their captor's insistence.  
  
Honor gestured toward a thicket of bushes. "Car's over there. Keys are inside."  
  
Indeed, Daniel could see Jack's sedan hidden amongst the weeds at the side of the road. "You're letting us go?"  
  
"Looks like it." Honor removed their cuffs. "Follow this up, west at the highway."  
  
"Just like that?" said Jack, soothing his wrists. "No explanation? No apology? No good-bye kiss?"  
  
"Sorry. Had to be done." Honor shut the van doors. "For all it's worth, I don't think you're an accident waiting to happen--if that's any consolation." With that, he got back in and Lorde started up the van. As they drove away, he stuck his head out, waving. "See you around, colonel," he called, leaving Jack and Daniel in the center of the road, their mouths open.  
  
They stared at one another a minute, blinking, puzzled, then O'Neill clasped the doctor's waist and they hobbled forth, headed for the car, for home, for their late Sunday lunch, now on Tuesday.  
  
"Ham and eggs?" asked Daniel, counting the days. "Egghead?"  
  
"I was trying to help." Jack lifted the door handle. "Anything. No beer. Didn't think you heard much.....I mean, under the circumstances."  
  
Daniel was lowered gingerly into the seat, smiling. "I heard you, Jack. I heard you." He waited for O'Neill to come around to the driver's seat. "This is one place I _never_ want to find my way back to. Even if I could."  
  
~The End~ 


End file.
